


Turquoise

by lamagicienne



Series: Shades of Blue [4]
Category: Olympics RPF, Sports RPF, Swimming RPF
Genre: Angst, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Rivalry, Slow Build, Unrequited, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-09
Updated: 2013-07-01
Packaged: 2017-12-14 10:47:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,704
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/836059
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lamagicienne/pseuds/lamagicienne
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Whatever is off between them, Ryan's loyalty towards Michael isn't affected. If anything, it's grown fiercer by the distance between them. It leaves Tyler to wonder whether Michael's aware of this.</p><p>Shades of Blue series, part IV (Tyler Clary/Michael Phelps, Ryan Lochte/Michael Phelps)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. One

**Author's Note:**

> Three more parts belong to this series which you should probably read in chronological order to better understand what's happening: Ultramarine, Azure and Indigo.

I

"What do you mean going back?" Tyler throws PVK a sharp glance. "Who is going back to Michigan?"

"Michael, of course. For coaching."

This is some kind of joke, Tyler decides. It has to be. Not quite the kind of humor he expected from PVK, but one hell of a way better than if this were actually -

"You mean, you didn't know?" It's Peter's turn now to stare at him incredulously. Ryan who is leaning back in his chair, fingers laced behind his head, watches his shock with mild interest. Clearly, this isn't news to him, either. Maybe it's this look on Ryan's face that convinces Tyler that this must be true after all.  

"No," Tyler finally says, his head spinning. "No, I didn't."

Up to that moment it's been a very pleasant evening, his last one in Gainesville where the UM swim team has been spending the annual winter break as usual. Peter Vanderkaay who is sitting next to Tyler fell in love with this place so much that he made this a permanent arrangement a few years ago. And now that his swimming days are over, he has taken an offer to stay and work in Gainesville as an assistant coach.

The three of them have been idly chatting about that by the poolside after training while the sunset dipped their surroundings in gold and apricot. Now Lochte is actually someone Tyler could easily picture teaching seven-year-olds how to backstroke. As for Tyler, coaching isn't something he considers for his own future - there is so much other stuff to do: car racing, DJing, maybe even getting a job related to that IT degree he's working towards, although he truly can't picture himself sitting in some office day after day - so he zones out a bit of the conversation.

Carol's sent a photo of the house all covered in snow to give him a heads-up about what awaits him in Ann Arbor. She totally should have come, Tyler thinks not for the first time and starts answering when Vanderkaay all of a sudden says: "Watch your ass with Phelps when you go back."

Tyler looks up from his phone and realizes the comment has indeed been directed at him. Ryan glances over his shoulder at PVK who briefly makes eye contact with him before he goes back to looking over the pool. "He's good at acting like nothing's the matter and everything just pearls off of him, but he never forgets stuff."

Tyler tries to see the context that would trigger such an advice at a time like this and fails. Back to training? To Michigan? To competing in the Grand Prix series? "What makes you say that?"

"Just observations over the years. Look, I know we're not close, you and I." Peter shrugs. "And I think what you did to Michael was a real dick move."

 _What_ I _did?_ Tyler already wants to start arguing. Then he remembers the interview. That seems like half a world away by now. 

"But whatever, you're a gifted swimmer and I'd rather not see you get into trouble with him again. You've a lot of that talent you hold against him, you know."

"It's more his attitude I hold against him."

"You've a lot of that, too," PVK responds drily. Ryan chuckles. "But actually? Until that interview happened, I thought you'd finally outgrown that."

Tyler is a bit at a loss about why he has to listen to all this at all. It's been more than half a year since the interview. While Michael is busy playing golf or whatever, Tyler's training has been going well which resulted in winning several Grand Prix events. "What makes you think I haven't moved on since then?" he asks, unable to suppress the irritation in his voice.

Ryan laughs and for the first time since Michael came up brings himself in. "Come on, who are you trying to kid?"

Tyler already wants to give a rude reply when PVK shoots Ryan a warning look. Ryan answers with a wink and then, smiling, turns his attention back to Tyler. Not for the first time during the last days, Tyler wonders what goes truly on inside of him and again regrets that they're not closer.

Maybe then he could decipher what's beneath the patience with which Ryan answers questions about Phelps, about whether he misses racing his friend. Or find out what's underneath the calmness with which he faces the bad times he's been posting in the Grand Prix series so far, having been busy with pretty much everything but swimming since London. Then again, Lochte usually peaks near the end of the season, which comes in handy when there are Olympic Games or - as in this year - World Championships ahead.

"You know, rumor had it back then that you only picked the 200 fly because that's his signature event."

Tyler bristles. It is true that he only developed an interest for the 200 fly after he'd started training in Ann Arbor, but that had something to do with finding out that he was really good at it… under Bowman's tutelage, when he'd made it into Michael's training group. It took him several months to hand in the times necessary for that, but it's what he had his eyes on and nothing served better to motivate him than the possibility to train with Michael…

"Bullshit." Tyler snaps himself out of it. Ryan smiles at him, PVK watches Ryan almost unnoticeably shaking his head. It's him Tyler turns to for his next question: "Why are you telling me this now like it's important for my future?"

PVK raised a brow. "We were talking about coaching assistantships, remember? And since he’s going back to Michigan…"

Minutes later Tyler is still trying to process what he's been told under the diffusely sympathetic looks of PVK and Ryan. Turns out this _is_ important for his future. It doesn't occur to Tyler right this moment that he probably won't have to interact with Michael or see this much of him.

While he's trying to think this through, something else takes precedence, though: how this makes absolutely no sense from Michael's perspective. "Why would he do that? He fucking hates Ann Arbor."

As if on cue, Tyler catches Peter and Ryan exchange another look that makes him think they know something they're not going to share with him. But then PVK says, "You're exaggerating. He still knows a lot of people there and not everybody was on bad terms with him by the time he left."

This way of phrasing it speaks volumes in Tyler's opinion. No, not everybody was - but very, very nearly so. Tyler doesn't argue the point but what he's thinking probably shows in his eyes since PVK takes a deep breath.

"If you ask me there was always a difference between what Michael did himself and what the circumstances made it look like. I mean, for obvious reasons Michael always got a lot more attention. I'm not even talking about the public. Between '04 and '08, even our coaches always put him first - not even Bowman so much, but everyone on the National Board. As if anyone who didn't dream of eight gold medals and still worked out day in and day out just didn't count. You think I was never pissed because of that?"

Tyler hesitates. Yes, it's actually what he thought. Others would regularly vent their anger about Michael and his status, but not the Vanderkaays. In fact, PVK and his brothers had always seemed much more tolerant of Michael's antics than most others on the team. "You never said so when we were at UM," he starts. 

"Of course not. I'm not talking shit about a teammate behind his back. And I knew you hated his guts even worse than all the others. It was kind of obvious even then."

Ryan who has been listening with interest to this conversation clears his throat. "Look, I'm not sure you realize that none of that was Michael's fault. He never encouraged any of that - he fucking hates to be a center of attention. It was even worse when I first met him. Today he can cope with it, he had to learn that, but he's never been comfortable with it. That's where a lot of his problems with you guys came from, actually."

"That's funny, I never felt he made an effort to fit in."

"Why the fuck should he? As a way to say thank you for not holding his talent and the attention given to him against him like he's responsible for that?"

Isn't he, though? At least for the way how he _handled_ both his talent and the attention? Can you really expect people _not_ to turn against you at some point when you always make everyone feel so damn inadequate and never once try to reassure someone?

"He was a jerk." Tyler looks Ryan straight in the eye. "It's the truth. I never did anything to him but from the very beginning he treated me like a doormat. Once Bowman asked him to help me with my training - he had this volunteer coaching thing going on then, because they didn't really know what to do with him - and he refused. Said it was a lost cause or something like that."

"I believe you," Ryan says to Tyler's surprise. "On occasion, he said himself he’d been an asshole. He's always known that he's difficult to deal with at the best of times." Ryan is watching him intently. "And I know him, too, better than you ever will. I wasn't there with him in Ann Arbor but I had him on the line almost every day. I -" He breaks off for a moment, as if looking for words which don't want to come to him.  

"Then why didn't he try to change anything about it?" Tyler jumps in. "He's always going on about how important it is to him that swimming's being more recognized, but his own behavior also plays some role in that -"

"You just don't get it, do you?" Ryan eyes are like blue flames as he leans forward in his chair, resting his elbows on his knees and makes sure he has Tyler's undivided attention. "We were _blessed_. Just think what it would have been like if it hadn't been him but someone who actually liked the attention. If it had been you for example – no offense, but I don’t think it would've done wonders for your attitude." He smiles a bit before turning serious again. "So instead of always beating up on Michael, I think people should for a change try and see the good that came with him being how he is. Maybe you can now."

Silence settles over their small group as daylight disappears off completely. It's a mystery to Tyler how anyone could ever believe that Ryan was jealous of Michael and of his achievements. People just jumped to conclusions after witnessing their strained relationship after London.

But whatever is off between them, Ryan's loyalty towards Michael isn't affected. If anything, it's grown fiercer by the distance between them. It leaves Tyler to wonder whether Michael's aware of this. 


	2. Two

II 

“Like hell I will.” 

Michael fights not to roll his eyes. “Yeah, I told him that was gonna be your reaction, but he wanted me to try anyway.” 

“Why did you go there at all?” Whitney narrows her gaze at him as she tries to read in his face. “For years, you barely speak to each other, but the moment he gets sick he remembers that he did father some kids at some point in his life and gets all sentimental –“ 

“Come on, it’s not like that. Took him long enough to tell us in the first place.” The stubborn old fucker, goes unspoken.

In a way, Michael can sympathize with Whitney’s attitude. Things between Michael and his father have never been great, but between their father and Michael’s sisters, they turned downright hostile in the aftermath of Whitney’s injury right before Atlanta all those years ago. When his daughter would have needed him to for once just put his arm around her and tell her that he loves her no matter what, Fred had nothing better to do than blame Debbie for not noticing earlier what was wrong. Whitney never forgot that.

Now if she’d been there, in that hospital right by his bedside and seen him, chemotherapy wrecking its havoc on him, maybe she would reconsider. There might not be much more time to reconcile – or at least for a civilized goodbye. If letting Fred see Taylor and Connor as he asked when Michael was visiting him the other day is the first step, why not take it now before it’s too late?    

While Michael is still thinking about how to best put this into words, Whitney completely unexpectedly caves in. "All right, fine," she spits, hands on her hips. "You take them there, fine with me. But I'm not going.” 

After all the trouble Michael took to bring the kids, Fred drops off almost as soon as they get to his room. Connor’s soon asleep, too, his head in Michael's lap, and Taylor is playing with his phone, propped up against him from the other side, leaving Michael with nothing to do but stare around the room with its weirdly beeping machines. He’s drafting excuses for his sister who will not exactly be overjoyed at the long time this visit takes.  

It’s getting dark outside already when Fred wakes up again. Michael’s been drafting excuses for his sister who will not exactly be overjoyed at the long time this visit takes. Taylor has put down the phone and curled into Michael’s side. The sight of him sitting there with the kids all over him and fast asleep brings the ghost of a smile to his father’s ashen face. Michael has heard people say before how chemotherapy can have worse effects on the body than the actual cancer. If at least they knew that there’s a silver lining somewhere in all this blackness, but so far the doctors can’t make any promises.  

“I brought them,” Michael mouths.

“I can see that,” his father whispers back. 

Michael isn’t sure if this was how Fred had pictured catching up with his grandkids, but neither of them wants to wake them up now which leaves them somewhat alone with each other. Before Michael started visiting his father in Johns Hopkins, contact between them has always been limited. Michael doesn’t ask how he’s doing. He can see for himself just how fucking exhausted he looks. He’s lost weight significantly due to all the vomiting as a side effect of the injections. It’s become difficult to picture him going after assholes dealing weapons or trafficking women throughout Maryland as he did for many years.  

They aren’t talking about his sickness. All Michael knows about his father’s therapy he learnt from either his wife or the hospital personnel. Small talk it is, then, in subdued voices. Michael shakes off the thought that his father most likely isn’t capable of anything else anyway.  

“You packed your stuff already?” 

Michael blinks. “Um – tonight, I thought.”  

“One evening? Packing for a cross-country move?” 

“Oh, that. I thought you were talking about my vacation. I’m going to Michigan only in May. Who told you anyway?”  

“Your mother.” 

Debs was here? That’s a new one. So far Michael believed he was the only one of them coming to visit.  

“And where are you off to now?” 

“Bahamas. I told you last time.” 

"With that girlfriend of yours?"  

"… no."  

_“This is it, then?”_

_Any significant conversation they ever had took place in the wee hours of the morning and this one isn’t any different. Michael briefly considers hitting himself on the head for registering random shit like this at such a moment. He nods. “It’s probably for the best.”_

_“For whom?” The words are out before she can bite her tongue. “You're moving on with someone, I take it.”_

_That's what you get for actually_ not _cheating, Michael thinks, it’s exactly the same accusation he faced during his last breakup and just as uncalled-for. The simple truth is that after Golden Goggles, after she’d said that thing about Ryan it was really just a matter of time. Things dragged on for a few more weeks but when the year drew to a close, Michael knew he had to make a decision. And he knows this is the right thing to do – what good will come of living with a woman who deep down doesn’t deem him worthy of affection or able to elicit it from other people, who is trying to drive a wedge between him and his best friend? (Not that they need any help on that, Michael reminds himself – they’ve become so good at ignoring each other.)_

_“Eventually, yes. But it’s not what you’re thinking. There is no one else right now.”_

_"You know, I'd actually wish you good luck, Michael,” are her somewhat cryptic parting words,” but I doubt you'll see what's right in front of you anytime soon."_

_“What’s that supposed to mean?”_

_But Megan merely shakes her head with a sad laugh._

Part of Michael finds himself wishing for his father to remark on that, to make some completely inappropriate comment about Michael’s track record of stillborn relationships, but he doesn’t. What he says instead might actually be worse. 

“You know I could hardly believe it when Debbie said you were going back to Ann Arbor. The last time you had to move there you were quite unhappy about it. And now you’re making it your own decision. I believed you wanted to try new things after… all that was over. To try out living for a change. But you can’t get back to the water soon enough.”

Michael inspects his fingernails. “I am trying something new,” he objects. One might argue it’s the same thing from a different perspective, but there are actually moments when he’s scared of what lies ahead of him. 

“Is that so? Or can you not bear to be out of your familiar surroundings for too long?”

There is a certain irony in the fact that his father inquires about the possible changes in his life when he as the same time ascribes a fundamental inability to adjust to new things to Michael. In doing so, he implies that Michael never developed any further from where he was at age eleven. "Sometimes it seems to me as if the idea got stuck in your head that for you to be good at something, it has to be tied to water somehow. Your mother –"  

“Don’t,” Michael says with as much calm as he can muster, having been in similar situations lots of times since his parents’ divorce. “I don’t need any of this right now."  

_“For fuck’s sake, Debbie, you let her turn into an anorexic! Is that your idea of taking care of the kids?”_

_In the foyer, Michael stops dead in his tracks, doorknob in hand. His father being here tonight is not what he expected. Then again, Fred obviously didn’t count on him being home this early either, considering the language he’s using._

_"What would be yours? Bail out and then rail at me for doing what I can here?” Debbie sounds more resigned than anything else. So very slowly, Michael lets his bag slip from his shoulder and slide onto the floor, trying his darndest not to make any noise because now they've moved on to him._

_“This?_ This _is what he made him do?” There’s a sound making Michael picture his father slamming his hand down on the kitchen table –Bowman’s latest practice sheet in it. “He’s thirteen, goddammit! And he’s having monthly checkups like a leukemia patient to make sure he doesn’t crack. Grown men would weep if they had to complete these workouts.”_

_He misses Debbie's next words.  “ – knows what he’s doing. I trust him and so does your son. There was a lot of fighting in the beginning but I believe they’re on a good way now.” Michael winces. This is probably not the right evening to tell her that Bob kicked him out of practice today. Again._

_“If Bowman’s pushing him hard he’s doing it because he’s gifted, because he could do things nobody ever has. Can’t you see that?”_

_“Well, what I_ can _see are two grown-ups ganging up on a child.”_

Swimming has been a fight-worthy topic between his parents for as long as Michael can remember – Whitney’s first, later his own. Fred never subscribed to Bowman’s idea of forging the greatest swimmer of all times the way Debbie did. With years between then and now, Michael can kind of see where his father was coming from being all critical of the sheer amount of workload Bob would put on his shoulders. (It’s true he was kind of young, then. And of course, it’s correct that his own wishes were often ignored.) Still, Fred didn’t exactly storm into NBAC to rescue his only son from Bowman’s 5,000 meter workouts, either. As long as Michael can remember, his father has been all talk. It was probably his blessing that he ended up with his mother after the divorce. 

“I was going to say Debbie doesn’t understand either why you would go back to Michigan,” his father interrupts Michael’s train of thoughts. “Even if it’s about the coaching part – it’s not like you cannot do that here in Baltimore.” 

Connor stirs in Michael’s lap and Michael gladly turns his gaze towards his nephew. Fred’s attention is undivided, though. “Or is it to get away from that man?" 

Michael takes a deep breath. Fred has never been a Bowman fan, insinuating on several occasions that there is something unhealthy to Michael’s relationship with his long-time coach. Hilary claims he can't stomach the fact that someone replaced him as his son's male role model during Michael's teenage years. Whitney attributes it to their father being pleased at Michael actually _winning_ gold medals, but refusing to understand what’s required to get there.

Whichever are Fred’s reasons, his words have the reverse effect he was probably aiming for. It’s weird but sitting here with his father, listening to his implications, brings to mind all the bonds that don’t exist between them, all the feelings he simply doesn’t have for this dying man. Things like that take a lifetime, they can’t be achieved within the course of a few weeks while waiting for a therapy to become effective.  

Instead, Michael’s suddenly overcome by a downright childlike need to talk to Bob.

As it happens, they haven't seen that much of each other since London and both of them are quite satisfied with that situation. Occasionally, he's hinted to Bob about his plans and Jon has certainly kept him in the loop. But so far they haven't really had an in-depth conversation about him trying out coaching. Michael realizes that he wanted to sign papers with Club Wolverine before they were having that talk. 

And maybe after that going to Michigan will feel like a flight.  

A dark-curled small head moves into his field of vision, the only descendent of Debbie Phelps who hasn’t inherited her brown eyes sleepily blinking at him. _Good save, buddy. Didn’t feel much like answering that one._  

“Hey,” Michael smiles down at his nephew. “Why don’t you say hi to your grandfather?”


	3. Three

III

Rumors about an alleged comeback of Michael’s start popping up while the Grand Prix Series draws to a close. For reasons he cannot figure out himself, he refrains from outright denying any plans of this kind. The ruckus erupting from the mere hint at him training again makes him shake his head, but –

Part of him really just wants them to keep guessing.  

Coincidentally, this discussion starts around the time when Bob seriously takes up coaching at NBAC again, having spent the time since London with consulting jobs abroad and taking care of his race horses. Contrary to Michael’s mother (who never made it a secret that she wants him to swim in Rio), Bob has never once as much as hinted at the mere possibility of him showing up there and four-peating the 100 fly. Michael is positive, though, that this is all due some Machiavellian scheme that his old coach plans to unravel when the time is ripe. They’ve known each other far too long for Michael to believe that Bob will just accept any decision of his. He feels, however, that his foray into age group coaching might buy him some time here.

Michael’s impending move to Michigan is what they spend the evening before talking about – which goes way better than Michael expected. One of the reasons might be that Jon has regularly updated his old coach about the proceedings so none of what Michael has to tell comes as a real surprise to Bob. Plus, Bob seems genuinely interested in Michael’s plans. Maybe he’s happy enough they contain water in some form – or maybe Michael’s just getting paranoid.

“They’re not going to expect you to,” Bob assures when Michael points out his complete lack in theory as far as sport education is concerned. “They know you’ve only rudimentary experience with coaching. Besides, no one steps up with a personalized manual in hand. Most of it depends on _whom_ you’re coaching and even then, it’s a trial and error thing, really.”

“That explains a one or two things,” Michael teases.

Bob regards him unfazed. “Don’t overanalyze it. They will notice if you spend half your time second-guessing yourself.”

“I’ve taught kids before. I’m not worried about them.” And he isn’t. As a matter of fact, he’s under the impression that he’s always gotten along much better with small humans than their grownup counterparts.  

“I wasn’t talking about the _young_ kids,” Bob points out, proving once again that he practically learned to read Michael's mind in all those years.  

Underneath the piano, Michael is lying on his back, his six feet four stretched out on the carpet, fingers interlaced behind his head. He hasn’t done this in ages, lie here in this familiar spot, listening to Bob make music. There is something on his mind, vaguely related to what they’ve been talking about all evening, a question he wanted to ask for quite some time and during the last months, ever since Golden Goggles it became more and more important to get the facts here straight. As he waits for the last sounds of Moonlight Sonata to fade away, he decides this might just be the right place and time. 

“Why didn’t you want me to talk to Clary?” he asks without preamble.   

After half a lifetime of communicating wordlessly or in half-sentences with his charge, Bob can put the pieces of this particular puzzle together in no time at all. “In Knoxville, you mean?”

“Yeah, you said I should forget about it.”  

Since he can’t see Bob’s face from down below, Michael can’t tell whether his old coach is surprised by this question that must come somewhat out of the blue for him. After the Olympic training camp, they’ve never ever mentioned Clary, never even needing to agree that he wasn’t worth their time. But with his first day of work in Ann Arbor drawing close, Michael finds himself thinking back to his last unpleasant interlude with Tyler. It can’t be denied that of all the people at Club Wolverine cross with him for one reason or another, Clary has the greatest potential of becoming a pain in the ass. 

“Did anything come of it?” Bob inquires.   

“Well, no, but –“  

“I didn’t want to see you wasting your time like this directly before the Games.”  

“That’s all?”  

“What else would there be?”  

“There wasn’t something –“ Michael breaks off and rephrases his words. “Something in particular you didn’t want us to talk about?”  

"If you’re referring to any of his statements about your training habits, I’ll stand by my opinion that it’s not worth even contemplating – " 

"No, not about the interview. Like – old stuff, I mean. More personal." 

“I’m afraid I can’t follow you here, Michael.”   

_Okay, then._ Michael takes a breath. “What do you think Tyler… thinks of me?”  

“He’s in love with you.” Bob doesn’t miss a beat. “If you want to call it that,” he adds. “Obsessed, infatuated – any of those will do.”  

Michael doesn’t want to call it anything. “What the fuck.” This is sort of the last straw. Bowman also knew, has known for ages. More than ever, Michael feels like the object of a conspiracy.  

“Don’t ask if you don’t want to hear the answer.” Bob sounds amused now. 

“God.” Michael props himself up on his elbows. “What’ve you all been taking anyway?”

“I've a feeling I’m not the first one you’re discussing this with." 

”No." Michael comes out from under the piano and sits cross-legged on the parquet floor. "For some reason, people have been shoving it in my face since last summer."  

"I was just going to ask why you only notice this now after all this time."

Michael rubs the back of this neck. "I wouldn't have. Just – Ryan mentioned something and then some of the others… we talked about it once during lunch." 

That for some unfathomable reason makes Bob go very still all of a sudden. “Ryan told you?" He lowers his gaze. "Why would he do that," he wonders aloud. Then his eyes return to Michael, his eyes piercing. "And now it's making the round among swimmers?" he asks sharply.  

Michael shakes his head. "Look, are you really picking on me or on the guys for telling me? I mean, how do you know? Jon probably told you.”   

“He did mention it to me."  

“When was that?”

“The winter before we left Michigan.”

“You never thought of telling me?”  

“No.” The answer is very firm. “What’s it got to do with you?”  

“Excuse me?” 

"It's a very private matter, Michael, certainly not for you to mess with – considering how excellent relations between you and Tyler have always been." 

Michael snorts. "Right, and because it's so fucking private, you two were gossiping about it behind our backs. How is that different from the guys talking about it?” 

"It is different, and you very well know that. Besides, I'd had an inkling myself even before with how Tyler absolutely wanted to add the 200 fly to his repertoire.” 

"Come on, what does that have to do with me? I mean, he is good in that event – he was even then.”

“That doesn’t seem to be what I recall you saying about Tyler’s swimming back then, Michael.” 

"Yeah, well, if I had known about the other stuff then I could've -"

"What? Treated him better? Been more friendly?”

Michael rolls his eyes when he recognizes that phrase from Tyler’s interview.                

Bob raises a brow. "We could interview a few others of your Wolverine teammates on your friendliness. I doubt they’d sing your praises.”  

"Excuse me, I was a little preoccupied.” 

“Exactly. And I wanted it to stay that way, no unnecessary distractions.”

“Like – Clary? A distraction?” Michael snorts. Then his eyes widen. “Hang on. Is that what you were worried about? That I would – act on it somehow? That's why you didn't tell me?”  

"Let's just say I had to provide for all contingencies.”

“You’re shitting me.”

“Why so surprised?”

“Because it’s – you know, none of your goddamn business who I want to fuck?”

“Well, do you want to?” Bob enquires in a mild tone of voice.  

“ _No!”_ Michael screws up his face in disgust. “But this is creeping me the fuck out. I mean, did you check on that kind of shit all the time or what? Who else is out there who could have become a _distraction_?”

Bob makes a dismissive gesture. “Just one more person I noticed and that is a very different case.”

“And that’s also a guy we’re talking about?”

“I really don’t believe we need to go into that.”

“Why in hell would you think I think about guys?”

“Sometimes it's a matter of convenience who gets with whom, especially when one's – how did you put it – a little preoccupied with other important things.” Bob gives him a calculating look. “You’ve been an athlete for the biggest part of your life, you know I’m right. When you’re training in a small group, under constant pressure, with an outlet hard to come by, people end up with people they’d never even look twice at under normal circumstances.” He pauses, definitely winding Michael up now. “And most of your fellow swimmers certainly aren’t painful to look at.”

“And you expected me to grab Clary of all people?” In spite of himself, Michael can feel a grin tugging at the corners of his mouth. It’s a funny thing to imagine – even funnier to picture Clary’s reaction. _I wonder what he would’ve done if I’d ever come on to him? Not that I would know how to go about that with a guy, but anyway… Blasted me across the room, most likely._  

Bob continues to watch him closely. “You've had women throw themselves at you for all kinds of reasons for years – and questioned their motives sometimes even when you shouldn’t have. With Clary, it's the other way round. He holds you in contempt – or acts as if he does – by badmouthing your work ethic and personality, and still is unable to help himself. There might be a certain appeal to that… honesty."

Bob’s carefully phrased words give an almost eerie echo Michael’s own thoughts when in LA for the shortest of times he did actually entertain the idea of pulling Tyler close. Just as an experiment, to see whether that would finally shake the ground beneath Tyler’s feet.  

“Not that much appeal,” Michael shakes his head. “I just hope this isn’t going to make things even weirder than they’re going to be anyway.”

“Why? Do you plan on talking to him about it?”

“Of course not.”  

“Chances are you won't even see too much of each other. Age group training always took place in the city pool not so much on campus. Also, he will be gone for a large part of the summer.”

Michael looks at him questioningly. Bob shrugs. “I don’t know about you, but I fully expect Tyler to qualify for at least one event at the next World Championships. Which means he’ll be at trials, in training camp, at Worlds eventually.”

Right. Maybe he’ll qualify for the 400 IM this time – or maybe, Chase is going to take care of that second slot. The slot behind Ryan.

“Have you talked to Ryan lately?” Bob asks, reading Michael’s mind yet again.

“No.”

In August, it will be a year they haven’t spoken to each other. At times, Michael can hardly believe that they were ever close, that for years there was practically not a day in his life when he didn’t hear Ryan’s voice or read a text from him. He feels they’ve never been further away from a resolution. Because for that, he would have to understand what when wrong there in the first place and this is still a mystery to him.   

None of that means, however, that Michael wishes Ryan anything less than gold in Barcelona. In bucket loads, actually. And if that means Clary will come up short – the better.


	4. Four

IV

Tyler still remembers becoming witness to a short poolside conversation between Jon and Bowman during the Olympic trials in ’08. They were watching Michael and Katie Hoff sharing a lane during warm-ups, Michael demonstrating something to her while they were taking a break, long arm cutting the air, eyes on his younger training partner.   

“He’ll be a coach one day,” Jon said, speaking rather loudly to make himself heard to Bowman over the noise.

“I know,” was the laconic answer.

So maybe recent news about Michael shouldn’t have come as a total surprise. Tyler’s been keeping track a little of what Michael’s been up to, just like all the years before, but for someone who’s been under the media’s electron microscope for the last decade or so, Michael’s almost always been doing a pretty good job when it came to keeping something a secret.

May creeps up on Tyler without him really noticing until one day after practice Bottom casually mentions that Michael will come up to Ann Arbor at the weekend and start his duties come Monday.

It’s actually not something that concerns Tyler or any other members of the long distance group, but since several of them know Michael and ever since word got out of him returning have been pestering Bottom and the rest of the Wolverine board aka Michael’s future colleagues. Nobody could quite believe it – in fact, most of his team mates were just as shocked as Tyler if for very different reasons.  

“He’ll study, too?” Klueh figures. They others grin. Michael’s lack of academic ambition is legend by now within the swimming community.

“Well, he’ll be working towards his certificate,” Bottom replies diplomatically.

“But he’s assigned to the minis, right?” Emily checks with Bottom carefully. “He’s not going to work with our group, is he?”

 _God help us,_ Tyler thinks. He didn’t even consider the possibility of having to put up with Michael during daily training so far. He can see, though, why some people would think it might make sense to have a veteran Olympian like Michael support Club Wolverine’s Olympic hopefuls with their training. Is that being discussed within the board? Is Emily just putting ideas into Bottom’s head here? Tyler glances at Bottom who to his unspeakable relief shakes his head.

“He’ll work with the age groups only. We assigned him to the nine- to ten-year-olds for now and later maybe he’ll help with the total beginners. We’ve thought about to employ him with the University team, but that’s not how most people start coaching and Michael mentioned he wanted to learn from scratch.”   

“Then why isn't he just doing it at home?" is the first thing Tyler contributes to this conversation.

As if on cue, the others all turn to stare at him. Well, it is valid question, Tyler thinks and defiantly returns those gazes. It’s common knowledge that Michael owns the place where he learned how to swim – it would make sense for him to also start coaching there. Maybe there is some kind of rule that prevents owners of pools from working towards a coaching certificate there?

The looks he’s getting from all sides can only be described as _knowing_. At the same time, they’re curious. Neither sits particularly well with Tyler. It’s taken months for what Tyler _said_ to somewhat fade into the background of what he _did_. Michael returning to Ann Arbor makes all this surface anew and this close to trials for Barcelona, it’s the absolutely last thing Tyler needs.

"Because of Bowman," Bottom recaptures Tyler’s attention in a pretty unexpected way. Bottom shrugs at their confused looks. "If he stays in Baltimore, goes to NBAC every day, Bowman will try to talk him into Rio. At least that is what I suspect Michael suspects.”

What an idea – although it’s not a completely unlikely one. Tyler can’t claim to have ever truly worked out the mechanics of Michael’s relationship with his long-time coach. But if he’s really picked Michigan as a kind of escape, that certainly adds a whole new dimension, Tyler thinks as he’s heading towards the exit.    

“Just a second, Tyler.”

He quickly turns around to see Bottom waiting for him – not quickly enough, though, to miss the rest of the group exchanging looks on his behalf.

“How are things between you and Michael these days?” Bottom asks when the others are out of earshot.

_Are you drunk? Or what gives you the idea I’m interested in your opinion about Ryan and me?_

“They aren’t.”

Bottom regards him carefully. “That I figured. I heard from Jon that you two had a pretty big fight in Knoxville when you were actually supposed to talk things over.”

Tyler takes a deep breath as he steels himself for explaining how it came to be that way without losing his temper. But Bottom holds up a hand. “I’m not trying to grate on your nerves with the same bullshit for the umpteenth time – I’m sure you’ve had your fair share of unasked for comments and good advice last summer. But the overall climate here at the club is important to me. So… I don’t expect you to become best friends, but it would help a lot if you acted civilized with each other.”

“I’ll go along with that.” _… if he does,_ Tyler thinks and drives home in a fucking mood.

At the house, things don’t get any better. Carol’s on the phone when he comes in. She doesn’t notice him at once, getting milk from the fridge and listening intently to the person on the other end of the line. Tyler watches her take a sip and swallow quickly before blurting out: “Of course, he cares!”

Her dialog partner presumably begs to differ. Carol grimaces ever so slightly when she adds for consideration: “Yeah, but that’s just because he has his head full. No. No, he’s looking forward to it, I’m telling you.”

Just when Tyler’s getting an unpleasant sense of foreboding as to whom she is talking to and what this conversation might be about, Carol takes notice of him. After giving him a quick once-over, she refocuses on the phone call she’s about to finish. “This will be just as awesome, you’ll see!” She laughs a bit. “Okay, then. Yes, say hi to them. Talk to you soon.”

Tyler takes a seat on the couch, taking off his sneakers when Carol plants herself in front of him, elfin features ungracious. “So. Is he here already?”

“Who?” Tyler fakes oblivion and immediately feels like the biggest dork on earth for it.

His girlfriend takes a deep breath. "Tyler, this has got to stop." 

He raises a questioning brow at her. “What, this?”

“Your baby sister, your Lindsey, worked her ass off all year to get accepted into Michigan – which of course has nothing whatsoever to do with the fact that you go here.” She rolls her eyes at him. “And what do you do when she makes it? You murmur something like, _that’s great,_ and immediately go back to moping.”

Tyler flinches, his bad conscience evident, but decides to focus on her last sentence. “I don’t mope. I’m not a moper kind of person.”

“Yes.” Without heels, the top of her head just about reaches his chin, but she can stand up to him better than any other person he’s ever known. Tyler knows it’s part and parcel of why he fell in love with her. “You’ve been moping around ever since you heard that Phelps is coming here. The least you could to is admit that you’re moping. She even gets to participate in the trials in June – did you congratulate her yet? No. You’re too busy obsessing about Phelps.”

“On Monday,” he says, answering her initial question. “He’s starting on Monday.”

“Well, suck it up already! You think _he_ spends his days thinking about how horrible it is that you two are stuck in the same place again?”

Probably not. But then again, it was Michael’s _decision_ to come here while Tyler had no say in the matter. He knew that Tyler was training in Ann Arbor and still picked it as his new working place. It’s highly unlikely that he just temporarily forgot about that when he signed his labor contract – especially since everybody else is hyper-aware of the awkward situation he puts Tyler in. It’s also evident in the way how Bottom gives the distance group a _very_ casual heads-up on Monday afternoon that Michael is at the natatorium – which seems all meant for Tyler.

Michael looks... lean. That’s the first thing that comes to Tyler’s mind for whatever reason when he steps out of the locker room and spots his nemesis for the first time in months. Tyler isn’t sure what he’s expected – for Michael to have let himself go? He’s wearing clothes, of course, jeans and a t-shirt, but still, that figure is no small achievement for someone who had to battle an Olympic-sized appetite after retiring. Post-London, busying himself with music and car-racing, Tyler found out the hard way how quickly weight can be gained.

His eyes follow Michael as he’s slowly walking along the poolside, chatting to Milorad Cavic, his former rival turned colleague. That’s a sight to see, actually. Tyler has never witnessed the two of them talking to each other when they didn’t have to (when there weren’t any cameras around after a race or a medal ceremony, that is). When Michael stops all of a sudden, it takes Tyler a second to figure out what he’s looking at with such interest. It’s the bulletin board where they all pin down their times for this season. Michael takes his time checking them out, his eyes roaming across the board as if he’s looking for something specific. His fellow Olympians’ times.

Tyler’s times – which in all honesty aren’t as good as they could be.

So what, he thinks defiantly. It’s the year after the Olympics, the first in his career but nevertheless. Everybody’s been taking it a bit easier after last summer. Tyler’s been out of the pool for almost three months – not half a year as Michael was after Beijing, but they’ve always had a very different approach when it came to work, haven’t they?

As if being alerted by Tyler thinking thoughts about him on the other side of the pool, Michael looks up from the timetables and meets his eyes almost as if he expected to find him there. Tyler doesn’t flinch and doesn’t look away for a long moment. It’s not exactly a staring contest, but at least on Tyler’s part, it holds an unspoken challenge.

From one Olympic Champion to another.   


End file.
